A Whale of a Tale

On Monday, the Evas and I had booked a whale and puffin tour. Then we arrived to find a big sign saying “there are no longer puffins.” We must have just missed the metaphorical boat, as puffin high season is in August, and the only place you can find them at the moment is on your plate in a fancy restaurant (sad, right?). Guess I’ll have to come back in summer months. Shame. Regardless, we still went on a whale-watching tour. The day before had been a glorious, sunny one. Considering the other 364 days of the year are wet and yucky, we knew the odds. It wasn't just windy, it wasn't just rainy, it was the kind of weather conditions Forrest Gump spoke of in Vi-et-nam, the kind of rain that blows in sideways violently and there's no escaping.

Now, I haven't been one to get seasick since I was about 12 years old, but when the boat is tossing you from side to side like a ragdoll, there's really no escaping it. Let's just say I did little more than pay homage to the Porcelain God during our three-hour tour, our three-hour tour. The Evas seemed fine, but we were all quite disappointed that, while there were three whale sightings during our trip, none were made by us. Because of the turbulent weather and the lack of whale activity, we were given a free trip back, redeemable whenever, whether it's 2009 or 2019. I won't be cashing in on that until my stomach recovers - so maybe next year. Still we got to wear nifty little space suits, which, in my opinion, makes up for it all.